Soul
by Zion Angel
Summary: Rumpelstiltskin deals for a caretaker not for his estate, but for himself, to stave off his own loneliness and misery, because on days like this, he misses his wife so very desperately. - A story about Rumpelstiltskin, his first wife, and the lovely princess he finds himself drawn to.
1. Chapter 1

This is a long, feels-laden story that has been floating around in my head for many months. As you'll not from the tags and the summary, this fic does focus a lot on Rumple and his first wife (Bae's mom), but I do promise this is first and foremost a Rumbelle story. (I know that a lot of us, although we may ship Belle with every Robert Carlyle character ever (Faery) really can't imagine Rumple with anyone else. Although it may appear otherwise at first, I promise that is not something you need to worry about with this story.)

… …

Soul

Chapter 1

By ZionAngel

… …

Rumpelstiltskin sits at his wheel and spins, alone in his massive castle, as he has for centuries now.

He isn't quite sure how long it's been since he last went out into the world to make any deals – a few days, a few weeks? All he knows is that he has been stuck here, alone in the castle, for too long. A hopelessness has settled over his soul, as it always does in times like this, when he feels even more bitterly lonely than usual.

At times like this, he forgets what it is that he's working so hard for. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he misses his wife and son so very, very desperately. He misses his wife's kind, sweet smiles, her soft, gentle touches, and the warmth of her company. But he has been missing her for a very long time now, far longer than his son, and he has always known there was never any hope of seeing her again. Even before he took on the curse of the Dark One, he knew that there was no magic capable of bringing back the dead. Baelfire, on the other hand, he might actually be able to find again. But after so many centuries of working and searching and dealing for a way to get him back, the hope that was dim to begin with has only faded more. And on days like this, he loses all but the very faintest hope, and the wheel is the only thing that keeps him from giving up entirely.

He can't afford to give up hope of finding Bae. Not only because it may mean his son is left alone in an unfamiliar world – he may very well have been left alone already. But because, as it was the day he lost Bae, and as it was the day he lost his wife, without the hope of seeing his boy again, he has absolutely nothing to live for, and he may as well die and fade away to dust.

Rumpelstiltskin hates days like today.

Without warning, he feels a tug of magic, pulling on his name. Someone is calling to him. Part of him is grateful for something to do, some distraction to pull him away from his miserable thoughts, but another part of him wants only to wallow in his loneliness and be left alone. But he can't resist the promise of a deal to be made, so he stands from the wheel and plucks the strand of magic from the air.

He watches and listens from hundreds of miles away, curious to see who would use magic to call to him, instead of just speaking his name. It's a quicker and stronger way to contact him, to be sure, but few have the nerve or the will to do so.

He follows the magic to its source, a battered castle in the Marchlands, on the coast of the Endless Ocean. He finds a very beautiful woman, a princess no doubt, kneeling on the floor of a darkened room, an open spellbook in front of her and his name scribbled in chalk on the floor. This in and of itself is strange. She's a very bold woman, to be trying such a thing.

He listens as she speaks her troubles into the empty room. Her circumstances are a bit more dire than his usual clientele – death and destruction, her people sure to perish at the hands of the ogres without his salvation. He can't help it if the mention of ogres makes his blood boil with vile, hateful memories, and makes him that much more inclined to answer her call.

He watches in rapt fascination as she finishes her spell and stands, gasps and drops her candle as she sees his apparition in her room, and then he severs the connection to stand alone in his castle once again. He takes a few minutes to consider this unusual request and circumstances.

It is a rare thing indeed that someone should summon him with magic, a woman rarer still. Only the blasted little miller's daughter comes to mind. But this one, this lovely little princess, is beautiful and strong, and bold enough to try it. She is a fascinating little thing, and he finds himself intrigued by her. He is eager to go and deal with her and her people, if only to learn more about this curious little creature. And best of all, she is so very, very desperate – just as he likes them. She must be foolish to think he'll accept her pithy offer of gold, but he decides to pay her a visit anyway. Everyone has something valuable enough to offer, whether they know it or not, and with ogres pounding at the door, she and her lot will no doubt be desperate enough to pay any price.

With a flourish of magic, he dresses himself in his most intimidating dragonhide coat, and transports himself to the chambers of the Marchlands war council, where he watches, and waits.

… …

Rumpelstiltskin sits at his wheel and spins, as he has so very many evenings in his twenty-two years of life. He thinks he ought to be doing something a bit grander or more meaningful the night before he is to be married, but then again, he hasn't even met his fiancée yet, and the rest of the village is handling what few preparations are necessary. So he spins.

His father announced his betrothal barely two weeks ago with no warning at all. He simply came to him one afternoon after returning from the market, and said he had reached an agreement with a man from a town to the south, and Rumpelstiltskin was to be married to the man's daughter. She knew how to sew and make garments, apparently, and would make a good match for a spinner and weaver like him. He hadn't bothered to protest – he knew the matter was already decided and he would have no say in it. He's been quiet and withdrawn since then, not sure what else to do but resign himself to his fate.

He shouldn't really be surprised. In the back of his mind, he always knew he would be married eventually – it was just a fact of life. But he had never relished the idea, had never been in good favor with the girls in his village, and always preferred not to think about marriage at all than to consider the inevitable truth that he would probably end up betrothed to a woman who was bored with him at best, who hated him at worst. Given the way his life has gone so far, he has no reason to hope for anything better. The only thing he _can _hope for is that this woman will be able to tolerate him, that he won't be entirely miserable with her. Granted, his life up until this point hasn't been especially happy, but it hasn't been so terrible, and now only time will tell how much worse it may become.

She and her family are to arrive late this evening, and the closer it gets, the more anxious he becomes. What if he doesn't like her? What if she can't stand him? What if she resents being betrothed to him, blames him for separating her from her friends and family and taking her away from her village? Or worse, what if she sees the kind of man he really is? What if she sees what a cowardly little nobody she's stuck with, and spends the whole of their life together hating him for it? What if-

"Hello," comes a quiet voice from the doorway, and Rumpelstiltskin nearly jumps out of his seat. "You must be my fiancé."

He stares at the stranger standing just inside his cottage door, a woman with dark hair and faded brown shawl around her shoulders. It takes him a moment to realize that this must be his betrothed. "Oh, uh… Melinda?" he chokes out, hoping that's right.

She smiles and nods. "And your must be… Rimpin…" She grimaces as she stumbles over his name, like she knows that's terribly wrong.

"Rumpelstiltskin," he offers.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She bites her lip and smiles at the floor in embarrassment. She's not a very pretty woman, though she's not exactly ugly, either. Her features are mostly plain and unremarkable, though he doesn't know what else he was expecting.

"It's all right," he says. "Everybody calls me Rumple or Rum. You can too. If you like, I mean." Belatedly, he realizes he should have stood up to greet her, introduce himself properly and welcome her. Instead he's still sitting at his wheel, the lump of wool still in his hand, and he thinks it would probably be too awkward to get up now. So he stays where he is.

"Rum it is, then," she smiles, then gestures to the door behind her. "I uh, we arrived earlier than we had expected, so I just wanted to meet you and say hello, and… I guess I'll see you tomorrow." She shrugs, like she doesn't know what else to say.

"Yes. All right." He wishes he had something better to say, something grander that would make a better first impression on his fiancée than this.

"Good night to you, Rum."

"Good night, Melinda." She smiles a little, and then she's gone as suddenly as she came. He returns to his spinning.

It's not till several long minutes later that he realizes he should have made some sort of promise to her, some grand, chivalrous gesture, and told her he would give her a good life, that he would protect her, and all of those things a husband is supposed to do for his wife. But she is already long gone, and anyway, he probably wouldn't have had the courage to say those things to her even if he had thought of them sooner.

It doesn't exactly bode well for his future marriage.

… …

Their handfasting takes place in a meadow near the edge of the village, where all the handfastings and ceremonies take place. It's just before sunset, and brightly colored sky and clouds should be beautiful, but he's far too nervous to appreciate them.

They stand side by side facing the altar and the priestess, surrounded by everyone in the village. Melinda's mother, sister and two brothers are here, her father not well enough to travel. A pang of guilt fills him, that she now has to live away from all the friends and family she's ever known, and will probably only be able to see them once or twice a year, at best, from now on.

He glances at Melinda herself out of the corner of his eye. She wears a violet dress made for the occasion. There is nothing terribly special about it, but as he looks closely, he can see that it fits her well, and has tiny runes and symbols stitched along the edges. It was clearly made with love and care, no doubt with the help of her mother and sisters. A crown of wildflowers sits on her head, and he has on to match. He watches her as she follows the priestess' instructions, lighting a candle and reciting blessings and drinking wine from the chalice. She seems nervous, stuttering over a few words, her hands shaking a little, though she is surely not nearly as nervous as him.

He goes through the motions as instructed by the priestess and before he realizes it, it's time for the actual hand binding, and he thinks his heart might actually pound right out of his throat.

He examines the cord as the priestess takes it from the altar. It was made in her village by her family, and this is the first he's seen of it. Bright ribbons in many colors are woven and braided and tied together. Beads and small charms are tied at each end, no doubt enchanted to bring them fertility and good fortune and all the rest of it. The beads are glass and the charms are metal, not wood, and the ribbons are made of fine silk. His heart wrenches with new anxiety as he realizes the expense her family put into it, wanting their daughter to have a happy marriage. She probably expects to be a great deal happier than she actually will be.

Melinda holds out her left hand as instructed, and the priestess places the center of the cord in her palm. He places his left over hers, his right below, and she finishes with her right hand on top. He hopes she can't feel his hands trembling as the priestess wraps the cord and binds their hands and says blessings he can't quite focus on.

He risks a glance at her, and she meets his eyes, smiling shyly, but genuinely. Her eyes are nervous, but she seems happy, to his great surprise. He grins a little in response. She squeezes his hands, just a bit, and he notices how very soft and warm they are, between and around his. Hesitantly, he squeezes back. He studies her face, her eyes, her nervous smile, and slowly his anxiety fades, just a little. Then it spikes again, and his heart races as she tugs him towards her with her hands, and he realizes that the priestess pronounced them husband and wife and told them to kiss. He's kissed a girl only once or twice in his whole life, and he would seriously consider running if it weren't for the fact that their hands are physically tied –

But then she presses her lips to his, chaste and closed-mouthed, and although his heart racing with nerves, he has the presence of mind to notice that her lips are soft. After a moment, she pulls away, amazingly, still smiling.

… …

Rumpelstiltskin watches the princess and her war council from the shadows, hidden by sight, waiting until he can decide what his price should be, and letting them grow desperate enough to pay it.

The princess is mesmerizing, drawing him to her like a magnet. She is exquisitely beautiful, in her shimmering yellow dress with her smooth, fair skin, silky brown curls and sparkling eyes, but he soon realizes that is not what draws him to her. No, what fascinates him is something deeper that he can't yet pinpoint. There's some deep fire in this woman, something that makes her feisty and bold, something that gives her the courage to stand with head held high while surrounded by men in a war room.

Once, a very long time ago, he found such courage rather endearing in another woman. He wonders if he might, perhaps, find them endearing again.

Watching her move around the war table, telling how she sent him a message, talking back to some oaf who tries to dismiss her, and seeing her hold her own is quickly dispelling his earlier lonely, miserable mood. Then, all in an instant, the pieces fall into place, and he realizes what a wonderful opportunity has just presented itself to him. _She_ will be his price for their protection, as well as his own protection from his loneliness.

If he has someone else with him in the castle at all times, someone to see every day and talk to, no matter how briefly, no matter the conversation, perhaps he won't be so withdrawn, won't grow so miserable, left alone with his own thoughts. He'll call her a servant, give her chores to do, something to keep her busy, something that will give him an excuse to talk and interact with her every day without her realizing her true purpose in being there. He doesn't actually _need_ a servant, of course, but if she can stave off his misery, she never need know that.

The king – her father, no doubt – all but gives up, retreats to his throne, surrounded by rubble. The princess follows him immediately, head still high, and tries to encourage him and keep his hopes up, and that decides it. She's a kind, nurturing little thing as much as she is fierce, and while she certainly won't follow him to his spinning wheel and offer him encouragement when he feels lost, her presence may still make him feel more hopeful when he feels particularly dark. Perhaps she might bring some of the same warmth and comfort to the Dark Castle that his wife brought to their little cottage.

Decided, he makes his presence known.

He moves about the room, around the table and through the small crowd of knights and councilmen as much to keep them on their toes and anxious as to keep the princess in his sight. To his twisted delight, she watches him as closely as he does her. She never hides from him, never shies away from the monster, and instead watches him with open curiosity. It's a good thing, too – her father may be the one doing all the talking, but he won't make this deal with any but her. His deals may be conniving and twisted, but none can say he ever made an unwilling slave of anyone.

After a few moments, when the tension in the room is painfully intense, when he has seen the curious little princess from all angles, and watched her appraising eyes follow him wherever he goes, he decides it's time to make his offer.

"What I want," he says slowly, drawing out the words to keep them on edge, "is something a bit more special." He looks at the king only because the man stands between him and the woman, but he falls back in horror as the monster points at his daughter. "My price is her."

The princess stares at him with wide eyes, yet strangely, he doesn't think it is revulsion or fear he sees there. Rather, it looks more like surprise, like she thought he hadn't even noticed her as he circled the room.

"No!" And what a silly king he is, to think that he has even the slightest say in the matter.

The oaf pushes her back with his whole arm, shoving her around like a rag doll. "The young lady is engaged. To me."

He could laugh, but then that wouldn't give quite the impression he wants. "I wasn't asking if she was engaged! I'm not looking for _love_." The very idea is ludicrous, that he would even bother trying. After all that he has suffered through these past centuries, he knows better. After all, what kind of depraved creature could love a monster like him? Perhaps another day, in another world, but not here. Not like this.

"I'm looking for a caretaker," he continues with nonchalant flair, as if pretty young princesses become maids of feared sorcerers every day. "For my rather large estate." A caretaker for _him_, more like, to keep him from driving himself absolutely mad in his lonely castle. "It's her or no deal."

"Get out. Leave!" The king points to the door as he yells, and the oaf shoves the princess around some more.

"As you wish." He would tell them that the decision is not theirs, would make the offer directly to the princess herself under other circumstances. But this one has been watching and listening the whole time, he knows, and he saw her thoughtful looks when he named his price. No, this one will speak for herself without prompting.

"No wait." Her voice is music to his ears, the first time she's spoken since he showed himself. Yes, he knows how to spot desperation, all right, and after all these years, he has become a master at knowing just how much they're willing to pay. He turns and watches as she steps away from the protection of the others, stands directly in front of him, and looks him square in the eye, without fear. "I will go with him."

"I forbid it!" the oaf yells, and Rumpelstiltskin almost reminds the fool that it's not his choice, but then he shouldn't be surprised when she does it first.

"No one decides my fate but me!" she counters earnestly, and yes, he's going to like this one. "I shall go."

"It's forever, dearie," he reminds her. He does like to be certain.

The look she fixes him with is full of fire and spirit, more courageous and fierce than he has seen her thus far. No, this one won't trade her life away without certainty. "My family, my friends… they will all live?"

"You have my word," he promises with a little bow and flourish.

"Then you have mine," she says, quietly, somberly, but with sincerity and courage. "I will go with you forever."

"Deal!" he screeches, laughing manically at the thought of all the good this little princess might do him.

_Belle_. It suits her, a pretty name for a pretty face. Rumpelstiltskin may be a monster, but he is not so far gone that he can't appreciate a beautiful woman. All he had wanted was a little plaything to have around the house and stave off loneliness, but if she also happens to be a lovely, vivacious princess for him to feast his eyes on, all the better. He sidles up near her as she says her goodbyes, and takes a kind of sick satisfaction at the look of discomfort his closeness brings.

With a gleeful, self-satisfied kick in his step, he tugs his new pet along, holding her tightly against him as he leads her out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Soul

Chapter 2

By ZionAngel

… …

After the handfasting, once they are officially joined as husband and wife, comes the feast. The entire village joins the celebration, everyone bringing some extra bit of food or another, with their families preparing most of the food.

There is music and dancing, drinking and laughter. He and Melinda, though, sit at a table by themselves, slowly eating as everyone comes over in turn and offers congratulations and good wishes. A few people, mostly from their own families, bring small gifts and flowers. Everyone is smiling, telling him how happy he should be, but Rumpelstiltskin feels only awkward and nervous. He wishes they weren't at the table alone. He has so very little to say to her when they are not eating or thanking well-wishers.

She asks him questions as the evening wears on, about the village, the people here, the sheep. He offers short answers, the best things he can think to say, but he doesn't add much to the conversation, doesn't elaborate or add any stories to the bare facts. He wishes he had more to say, wishes he could think of something appropriate, and then actually have the nerve to speak the words. Even he knows he ought to say something better to his new wife, something to make her feel welcome and wanted. Finally, like some tiny miracle or a gift from a fairy, when she seems to have exhausted all her questions, his mind finds something that seems like a good idea.

"You, uh…" he starts, muttering, and she looks quite surprised to hear him speak. "You look very pretty tonight." She isn't a beautiful woman, but in her flowing dress, with flowers in her hair and a little smile, she does actually look nicer than he realized when he met her last night. It is a flimsy compliment, but even so, she lights when he says it. He isn't sure if it's because of the compliment itself, or the fact that he finally said something to her without prompting.

"Thank you." She smiles, and looks down shyly. It seems to ease the awkward tension between them somewhat, and after that, dinner is a little easier to bear. That is, until the evening draws to a close, and suddenly everyone is all but yanking them out of their chairs and ushering them off towards the cottage that is now to be their home.

With a flash of horror, Rumpelstiltskin realizes what is expected of him next, and for the second time that night, he considers simply running as far and as fast as he can. But that option dies along with the heavy thud of the door behind him as they are pushed inside the house. Being married was a terrifying enough thought – now he has to deal with what he's expected to do next. He is hardly a ladies' man, and while he knows the basic mechanics of what to do, he will probably last all of thirty seconds, and he'll be left humiliated, and things will only become more awkward between them.

He swallows hard, but he can't seem to do anything about the horrified lump in his throat. After a long minute, he realizes that Melinda hasn't moved, and that it is very dark inside, only a few flickers of light streaming in from the fires still going outside. Not sure what else to do, but knowing they can't just stand around in the dark all night, he fumbles over to the table and lights a lantern. He looks around until he finds another, and lights that as well, and then sets about starting a fire, desperate for anything that might delay the inevitable.

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as he stokes the fire to life. She wanders through the room, taking everything in and familiarizing herself with the place. He turns back to the fire and sets another log on top. Suddenly, she is at his side, and he jumps as he looks up at her. Surely she doesn't simply want to do it _now_, does she?

But she only grins at him, and reaches down to take the crown of flowers from his head. She places it on the mantle above the fireplace, then sets her own beside it. She wrings her hands together, as if she too is nervous. "I could make us tea, if you'd like," she murmurs.

He nods a little to enthusiastically, glad to buy a little more time. It's nice of her to offer, at any rate. She quickly finds the kettle and the fresh water and sets it on the stove. He wonders how long her good mood and happiness will last, how many days or weeks she might be moderately happy before she realizes that she has married a cowardly little nobody.

His thoughts are cut short as she wanders over to the weaving loom in the corner of the room. Even if it won't be a particularly happy marriage, he thinks, he should at least make an effort. It might make things easier, at any rate. He follows her over to the loom, where she is examining the half-woven piece of fabric he is working on.

"It looks so complicated," she says.

"You've never used one?" he asks, grasping for some topic of conversation.

"No. I've never even seen one used. I only sew. The fabric I use is already made by the time I start working on it. My cousins did all the weaving."

She touches the fabric he's working on, made with fine wool and carefully woven. "This one I'm working on is a little bit finer than I usually make. A family the next town over asked me to make it for them. They're going to make shirts out of it, I think." It's a flimsy contribution to the conversation, but it's better than what he's managed so far.

"How does it work?" she asks, running her fingers over the fine texture of the cloth.

"Uh… well," he mutters, sitting down at the stool. "These threads are tied from that rod to this one, and I can turn them as I go along." He points and gestures as he explains, and as he does, she comes up behind him and rests one hand on his shoulder. "Uh… and then every other thread is hooked up there… and when I press these pedals it either pulls them up or down. And then I just pass this other thread from one side to the other each time."

She smiles down at him and squeezes his shoulder, and somehow she makes him feel as if he has done something incredible, rather than just explain a boring machine to her. "Well that doesn't sound so complicated."

"No… not really," he stammers, as she moves away from him and heads for the spinning wheel. "Not once you get used to it." Belatedly, he gets up from the loom and follows her.

She turns the wheel slowly, watching the mechanisms move. He is about to sit down and show her how to use that as well when the kettle whistles, and she goes to make tea for the both of them. He sits at the wheel anyway and takes up the lump of wool waiting there. His wheel's powers have served him well thus far in life – he only hopes it can calm him enough for what is to come.

After a few moments she returns with two cups of tea. He smiles faintly as he takes one, and then his jaw goes slack as Melinda slips between him and the wheel and sits on it. Her smile is shy, at odds with her bold actions. She sips her tea for a moment, then rests the cup in her lap, staring at it.

"I'm very glad to have been betrothed to you," she murmurs, and he can't possibly be hearing her right. He hoped, at best, that she would feel contentment or acceptance to be with him; happiness and gratitude were completely outside the realm of possibility.

"You… you are?"

She smiles a little, then frowns down at her cup. "I've seen a lot of marriages in my life. So many of the women in my village were betrothed to… _awful_, horrible men. Men who were cruel or hurt them or ignored them or were just… unkind to them." She shakes her head, and her face brightens with a smile. "But you're polite and sweet, and I don't think you would ever treat me poorly. And I think you'll be nice company once we get to know each other better."

He can't help but laugh at that, a little embarrassed. "Not so nice. I made lousy conversation at dinner."

She smiles again, and he realizes that it does something to her face, lights it up and makes her look prettier than he first realized. "You're just shy. We hardly know each other yet."

Rumpelstiltskin imagined many things about his new wife. This gentle kindness, this sweetness, was not among them, and he finds himself wonderfully surprised. "Uh… yes, well, I'm… I'm glad to have been betrothed to you, too." He could swear she blushes as she sips her tea.

And suddenly, it's not nearly as awkward as it was before, and for the first time, he actually feels himself starting to relax. He finally drinks his tea, and finds it somehow much better than any he has ever made for himself. Better, perhaps, than any he has ever had. Maybe that's a good sign.

"I'm sorry you have to live away from your family," he says after a few minutes of almost-comfortable silence. "That can't be easy."

"Oh, it's not so bad. I'll still be able to visit them." She turns her cup in her hands. "And to be honest, I always hoped I wouldn't have to stay in the same place my whole life. What's life without a little adventure?"

"A safe one," he quips.

"A _boring_ one," she counters, but she smiles affectionately all the same, and he can't help but laugh.

They both finish their tea soon, and after that things grow very awkward very fast. He managed to forget about it while they talked, but now the nerves and anxiety flood him again. She actually seems halfway happy to be with him – he doesn't want to ruin it with a brief, awkward coupling, doesn't want to embarrass himself, or worse, hurt her.

She still twirls her cup in her hands, and he wonders if she feels as awkward as he does. Finally, she says quietly, "Rum?"

"Yes?" he asks, swallowing a lump out of his throat.

"If it's all the same to you… do you think tonight we could just go to sleep? Get used to sharing a bed and being next to each other before we… do anything else?"

He sends silent prayers of thanks to every god he knows as he tries not to show his complete and utter relief on his face. He gives her a small smile. "I think that's a good idea."

She smiles back brightly then turns down with a little sigh of relief and a blush on her cheeks. "Good. But, I do want to do this." His heart pounds in his chest as she reaches out and gently places her hand on his leg, just above the knee, and leans in. Her boldness surprises him again, and he leans in a little, not wanting her to feel unwanted. Again, she is the one to close the last few inches between their lips. This time, though, the kiss is more intimate, soft and gentle instead of stifled and formal. This time, he is able to notice how warm and soft her lips are, as she parts them just enough to take his bottom lip between hers. This time, he finds that kissing her is actually rather pleasant and enjoyable. When she pulls away and gives him a small smile, he actually wants to kiss her again.

She stands and takes their teacups back to the wash basin. "I'll just go put my things away, and we can go to bed." She takes the small sack she brought from home into the bedroom and shuts the door. As he rinses out the cups and snuffs out the lights, he hears rustling in the next room as she puts away the clothes she brought. When she emerges, she has changed into her night dress, a white shift that – thankfully – is not too thin. She trades places with him to let him change into his own night shirt, and when he is finished, he invites her back in, and blows out the last candle.

The bed is brand new, soft and free of uncomfortable lumps. He settles under the blanket first, moving to the side and holding the corner up for her to join him. They settle and shift and move the blankets around, struggling for a bit to find a suitable position. Eventually, he winds up on his back, and she curls into his side, draping her arm over his chest and her legs across his, with her head resting beside his on the pillow. He can just make out her features in the dark. After a few minutes more, the awkwardness fades, and he finds a kind of comfort in sharing his bed. Her body radiates a soothing warmth, which he thinks will be wonderful in the cold months of winter. Her weight against his side presses into him firmly, but it is a very pleasant sensation. He soon drifts off to sleep, and his last conscious thought is that it might not be so bad to share a bed for the rest of his life.

…

With his arm still gripping her waist tightly, Rumpelstiltskin transports his new caretaker to his castle. They appear on the stone steps in front of the main doors, and the night has already descended in this part of the world. He smiles gleefully, thrilled to have a lovely new pet to keep him from spiraling into loneliness and misery.

Now, he just has to figure out what to do with her.

Rumpelstiltskin, sorcerer feared throughout all the lands, the man who always plans twelve steps ahead of everyone else and who considers every possible flaw, contingency, and bump in the road, has absolutely no idea what to do next.

Beside him, she stumbles out of his grasp and nearly falls to her knees, and she gives a dry heave. Teleportation isn't exactly easy on the stomach for those unprepared for it. He doesn't wait for her to right herself and adjust to her sudden change in surroundings before he starts up the steps to the entry. He hears her scrambling after him just as he opens the massive double doors with a flick of his hand.

"Is – is this your estate?" she asks breathlessly. The doors shut behind her just as she turns to take in the sprawling lawns between the here and the guard walls.

"The Dark Castle, yes," he says, turning to her and gesturing to the dreary grey stones with his usual grandiose flourish. "Like it?"

"It's… huge."

"Yes, you'll certainly have your work cut out for you." He shoots her a wicked smile as he points to her. The sarcasm is as natural as breathing after all this time, his perfected means of inspiring fear and subservience all at once.

"So glad you decided to take a step up in the world, dearie," he continues, circling the bare table in the entryway. As he makes his way around, he strides up behind her until he's nearly pressed to her back, far closer than any woman would want a monster like him. He leers at her over her shoulder as he continues, "Your service will be of great use to me."

If anything, she only stands taller, and turns to look him in the eye. He can feel her breath on his face as she speaks. "I'm here for my loved ones. Not for you."

There's sorrow in those eyes, and pain, but still, he sees no fear, no revulsion.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he brushes past her and through the doors to the dining hall. Again, she hurries after him, as though she is some lost puppy chasing its master. A fitting comparison, he supposes.

"Where are you taking me?" Her tone is halfway to bright and cheery, and it rubs him exactly the wrong way, and this simply will not do. He can't have his little pet thinking she's as important as she really is, thinking she's anything but a servant – he can't afford to let her have any power over him, let alone that much. He needs to that cheery little bit of hope, and quickly.

It had seemed only logical, just minutes ago, to put her up in the servants' quarters. But now, with her attitude, he thinks something a bit more drastic will be necessary to get the message across, show her just who holds the power in this castle. "Let's call it… your room." Something much more drastic, indeed.

It hits him, then, that this is the first time in a century or more that he has walked into a deal blind, that he has bargained for something without thinking through every conceivable consequence. He has always been twelve steps ahead of everyone, ready for anything that may come, contingency plans for every possibility. He has not made a decision on a whim in ages, and now his mind is reeling, struggling to catch up, and figure out just how in the hell he thought this would be a good idea.

Could he really be that desperate? More desperate than even he realized, to have someone else to fill the lonely void?

He pushes the thought away. It doesn't matter why he did it, only that he must now figure things out as he goes.

"Shouldn't – shouldn't you show me around first?" she stammers, following him through the next set of doors and down a flight of stairs.

"All in due time, dearie. We want you to be well rested for your first day of work." He turns to shoot a sly grin at her, and still, she seems only perplexed.

"I was just thinking –"

"Oh, there's no need to do any of that," he interrupts, latching onto the opportunity. "Don't you worry your pretty little head." A feisty little thing like her surely wont' appreciate that – best that he treat her like a silly little woman, like all the rest of the men in her life surely did. That will be sure to take her confidence down a bit. Sure enough, she is silent as they descend the remaining stairs.

He hasn't been down to this part of the castle in decades. Fortunately, it's every bit as dreary and intimidating as he remembered.

"We're here," he announces brightly, as opens the door with a bit of magic.

"My _room_?!" she balks, with all the air of an indignant princess, and yes, this will do the trick quite nicely.

"Well it sounds a lot nicer than dungeon." He grabs her arm just a little too tightly, shoves her through the door just a little too roughly, shuts it with a satisfying thud, and lets her hear his maniacal laughter as he leaves, just for good measure. As he walks away, leaving her pounding her little fists on the door, he _finally_ hears a note of panic and fear in her voice. About bloody time.

When he is out of earshot, he transports to his workroom in the tower, weariness and an unfamiliar worry settling into his bones. He needs to _think_, to figure out just what the hell he's gotten himself into, and what he needs to do now.

He slumps down in the nearest chair, and stares through the window at the night sky. He doesn't have the energy to spin, much less do anything else. The flood of unfamiliar emotions from his lifeless heart is nearly enough to overwhelm him – he is so very lonely, always, even on days when he is too wrapped up in other things to notice it. And as terrible as the idea seems to be at the moment, he is so twistedly happy to have her here, to have a little another living being around the castle. The very thought of it is enough to quell the sickening loneliness to a bearable level.

Even so, he has no earthly clue what to _do_ with her. He barely knows how to handle a woman, and he hasn't had a servant since the last one he killed, since he upset Bae so terribly. But a woman who is to be both his servant, his captive, but also his companion – he doesn't even know where to start. He has never had anyone else in the castle, or otherwise under his control, save for the harmless infants he deals for. He has never had anyone he needed to control at all times, no one to do his bidding except for holding up their end of a deal, and that is always over as fast as they can possibly manage. They never came this close, never invaded his space, his home. Not a one of them posed nearly as great of a threat as she does, being this close to him, and sure to learn everything about him as time goes on. He should feel more comfortable in his own home, his own territory, but instead of giving him the advantage, it feels like his entire mind and home have been invaded.

It doesn't help matters any that she is not acting at all like he expected her to, like anyone else would, like everyone else _has_. It was foolish of him not to notice it in the war room, not to notice that she hasn't behaved as expected from the moment he laid eyes on her. He shouldn't be at all surprised by her now, and he berates himself for being so foolish and short-sighted, for giving in to his desperation. If there is one thing he knows, it's that desperation is a dangerous thing.

He wonders if he hasn't made a grave mistake, if he might come to regret this decision very soon. But, as reluctant as he is, he can't very well go back on the deal now, can he? No, there is a way to bring the balance of power back to him, to maintain control of her and the situation. There always is. He only needs to think, and process everything and come up with a strategy, and figure things out. He needs to figure _her_ out.

Yes, by morning, he will have something worked out, some way to get her right where he wants her and keep her there, a way to make sure the relationship goes exactly as he wants it to, and doesn't bring any surprises.


End file.
